


Love Is Her

by thenightwing



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Drabble, F/F, Fluff, Mostly Fluff, it's too short to be anything else tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:00:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23770702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenightwing/pseuds/thenightwing
Summary: Thank you for reading!
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	Love Is Her

_There once was a love that is above all._

_A love so strong, so powerful that it defeats all the forces it's up against. A love that shows no mercy to those in its way._

She grew up in a home of love, with homemade stews and French-braided jet black curls.

Every night before she went to bed, her mother, the light of her life, would tell stories that tells of a main character who can defeat any dragon or monster that dares come near. A main character loved and admired by everyone in the story. She would wax poets about a main character that is both strong and weak.

A main character, whose name is Love.

Starry-eyed and a curious mind, she would try to stay awake for every story her mother told, even when her subconscious had drifted far away.

In her sleep, she would feel a gentle pressure on her nose, filling her with so much warmth and affection that her tiny body didn't know what to do with. So she settled with a tight hug, "an act of love" her mother once said, and promised someday she would take over her mother's important task of bedtime stories. That even as she grew old and wrinkly, she would be here, filling her ears with tales of her own adventures, and just she waits.

A chuckle vibrated under her cheek, eliciting a whine that cut off almost as soon as it came.

"May you have the sweetest of dreams. Roam freely, my dear. And you'll be the one to tell me stories one day."

Her mother died when she was 4.

It was as if it didn't happen at all. All she could remember was stomping her foot and having a tantrum over why her mother was still sleeping. Why didn't she pick her up from school. Why hadn't she made dinner yet. Why was she ignoring her.

The look in her mother's eyes that morning before she sent her to school haunted her in her dreams. Because as an adult, she saw it on her own face more times than she could possibly count.

It was Love. It looked different, but it was there. Why didn't it save her mother?

Later on she learned, Love was not the hero of the story.

Love was a sword, yield and ready to stab any heart without remorse.

Love made her feel things she shouldn't. Love made her foolish.

Love made her blind to the evilness that her adoptive brother had become. Love made her endure the abuse her new mother bestowed upon her. Love made her weak and desperate for affection and validation from her surprisingly-biological father.

An online quote she stumbled upon once said _"If you can't fight it, join it."_

Naïve, foolish, and starved, she searched for Love in hopes of making amends.

She searched for Love in a best friend who stole the only thing she had left of her dearest mum and walked away.

She searched for Love in a beautiful senior who thrived on being needed and made sure she never forgot who she belonged to.

She searched for Love in a handsome business partner who smiled at her like she was his whole world.

It wasn't there. It never was.

A fruitless search. An aimless journey. A foolish her.

Time passed. The sky remained blue, and she was still searching.

She stared at families when stuck in traffic, yearning for the joy they share as they sang silly songs. At sisters and brothers, asking what she did wrong and why wasn't she good enough for him. At lovers and partners, aching as her heart twisted and screamed in pain.

Roses are red. Violets are blue. Love is something she may never find, that much is true.

Love came to her in a form of red and blue.

She scampered into her office as a yet-to-be reporter, clumsy and flustered and just so damn cute.

The heart that she deemed cold thawed, and her lips conjured up a smile she herself never knew she had.

Blue met green, and in that moment, she knew she found her.

Interviews turned to coffee dates. Lunches turned to dinner. Hugs turned to kisses.

Love is lunches and dinners with warm Chinese food and pillow forts.

Love is text messages and phone calls that makes her smile giddy and seduces her midst board meetings.

Love is loud arguments and stubborn heads refusing to go to bed unreconciled.

Love is bone-breaking hugs and breathless kisses after a long, tiring day.

Love is lying in one bed, doing different things but always together.

Love is hurt and ache over bruises and near counters with Death.

Love is big, rowdy meals with laughs and cries on their big-enough-for-six couch.

Love is the rings sitting on their fingers, the loud cheer of families and friends echo in the small church they rented, and the vision of a near future where she would take over and be the one to tell bedtime stories.

Love is the feeling of companionship as she sat in front of a cold, well-kept gravestone in the cold land of Ireland, smiling and laughing as she spread tales of her Love and their new Loves. It is the feeling of content and happiness, knowing she was looked after by angels of Earth and alien stars.

She finally understands.

Love is her.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


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